


Portrait of a lady (poster of a girl)

by Affectionary, feyrelay



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Age Difference, Aged-Up Peter Parker, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Armor Kink, Canada, F/F, F/M, Female Peter Parker, Female Tony Stark, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Identity Porn, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Mommy Kink, Moodboards, Multi, POV Alternating, Petra is 21, Praise Kink, Psychotropic Drugs, Queer Themes, Revenge, Revenge Sex, Secret Identity, Strap-Ons, Technological Kink, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Unreliable Narrator, Women In Power
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 14:56:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19211770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Affectionary/pseuds/Affectionary, https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyrelay/pseuds/feyrelay
Summary: Petra Parker has a perfectly good reason to be in La Revanche for a drink, this evening. She has several, in fact. Work, friends, a vendetta, you know... normal stuff.Curiously, despite her lifelong fancrush, Tonia Stark wasn't one of those good reasons. Or, she hadn't been, at least.





	Portrait of a lady (poster of a girl)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has a boppin' playlist; it's female, Canadian, and queer AF and you can listen to it [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3AWt4WFDIQOXSdTI9BY8WZ?si=kIrS9Op4SAO-TvgFphYeFw).

 

Antonia was a good, sweet Italian name, fit for a princess. She’s pretty sure her mother picked it.

Isn’t that how it went, in the hospitals of yesteryear? Fathers picked their sons’ names and mothers named their daughters. (Oh, but never after _themselves_. No ‘Junior’ for her.)

Tonia’s not sure what she’d rather, if it had been up to her, truthfully. On the one hand, any small measure of power she could take away from her father was a good selling point, in her book.

On the other hand, sometimes she just needs a good dick. And not in her, either. _For_ her. (For her use.)

It’s a good thing Tonia Stark is a fucking genius.

***

Montréal is a pretty washed out scene, but then again, so is she. Age has been kind to Tonia Stark; she’s still a ‘legit snack’ as the kids are saying, these days, but she’s not _young._

It’s frankly embarrassing (for them) how frequently her competitors feel the need to bring that up. Most of them are in their sixties or seventies, but oh, that’s different. Men are allowed to age, haven’t you heard?

It’s one reason that Tonia is in this bar. Her sexuality is as fluid as they come, and it only gets more fluid the more drinks she has (there’s a joke in there, somewhere), but she just doesn’t have time for the hedge fund brokers or the questions about the kids she simply is _assumed_ to have. (Nevermind the ones the tabloids claim she _did_ have.)

(Nevermind the ones she _almost_ had.)

But, it’s raining outside, the kind of rain that’s just this side of snow, and she just wants to be warm. Hopefully, one of the lovely little lesbians in this place can help her with that.

Canadians are so helpful, in general, you see. There’s a grain of truth to the stereotype.

(It helps to be richer than God.)

Happy, bless her heart, told her once that she preferred bringing Tonia to this bar, as opposed to some of the other haunts they’d tried on various business trips, because there were fewer doors for her to worry about. Tonia appreciates that Happy is so security-minded; it frees her up to go hunting.

Also, Justine Hammer would never step foot in a dive like this, so there’s that as well. (Unimaginative bitch.)

Unfortunately, there’s a blonde woman that seems to be doing her level-best to impersonate Hammer, tonight, anyway. Tonia’s pretty sure she just said something about how she’d be so much prettier, if Tonia hadn’t gotten so mixed up in drugs. (“Heroin really ages you, Jaime.”)

Fortunately, not many people are allowed on this side of the VIP rope, so she doesn’t have to scare them with the way her knuckles crack.

Tonia _does_ see a girl look up from the main floor, though, doe eyes going wide. Apparently she’d heard the dry, popping sound like a twig snapping.

What an interesting bit of prey she’d make.

***

“Oh, _wow._  I am such a huge fan.”

(Yes, she’d thought so.)

“Your work on the revised mu-coefficient application calculations given the new possible implications of wormholes and other gravity- and/or mass-bending cosmic structures is really revolutionary… I mean, I, uh-”

Okay, _that_ she was not expecting.

Tonia smiles her most personal smile, the one that (she’s been told all her life) will get her into just about anywhere. Or anyone.

It’s the least she can do for a fan that took the time to memorize some of the terminology from the abstract of her newest thesis. Most people just ask her about the next product launch, or breaking up with Anna Paquin.

“And your name is…?” she remembers to ask.

The doe-eyed girl gets even _more_ doe-eyed, which actually has interesting implications for one of Tonia’s recurring shower thoughts about the laws of physics when it comes to how impossibly _young_ some of these millennial (or zillennial…?) kids can look.

“Oh, I’m Petra. Petra Parker.”

(Perfect.)

“Tonia,” she says easily. It disarms people, the nickname. She even winks, feeling at ease, and leans on her fist so her shirt will shift just that extra bit and give her the good cleavage she hopes Petra will be into. Sue her, she’s fifty-two, she has to make her own luck.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, Ms. Stark. I’ve always wanted to have a chance to talk about, well. Maybe you don’t want to talk about work here, at a bar-”

“That’s very considerate of you, Petra,” Tonia praises, just to test for an effect. She gets one. “Would you like to take the discussion somewhere nicer?”

It’s alarming and sweet how quickly Petra agrees, saying something about it being more professional, anyway. Tonia can’t really hear her that well over the sudden bass drop.

She does notice, though, how flexibly the younger woman leads them both through the weave of people, as Happy follows along. Petra leads them back to a stool near a dark-haired girl, who has apparently been watching Petra’s bag and whiskey sour.

Tonia looks back to exchange a glance with Happy, who knows the drill. _Check the drink; if someone’s spiked it, I don’t want to get blamed._   _Then, get lost._

Happy gives her a nod that says, _Transmission received._  Tonia claps the stockier woman on the shoulder, their version of a hug.

Petra smiles a bit at that, then her face goes curiously nervous. “Do you mind if we stay for just a minute? I’m supposed to be getting a picture of Steph’s act. Really quick, I promise!”

Tonia shrugs, stepping closer into Petra’s side so Happy can drop a test tablet into the whiskey sour. She slides her hand and arm around Petra’s lower back.

Petra startles back a little, coltish, nearly dropping the lenses she’s attempting to switch out on her camera. Tonia closes her hand over that, instead. “Sorry, here. These are nice… you’ll want to take care of them.” She’s not sure if she means the lenses or the hands.

She doesn’t know this woman from Eve, but if Steph is the blonde woman she saw earlier (which would align neatly with the stage makeup and sequins), then Tonia wouldn’t mind making a better impression before Miss Parker decides she needs a close-up.

Regardless, she gingerly takes what she now recognizes as an old, but well-maintained, leather camera bag (and not a purse) from her partner for the evening, and watches as Petra sets up for some shots of the stage. She thinks, absurdly, that it matches her outfit. (Vintage L.L. Bean and vintage Chanel. Lovely.)

“Adjust for parallax,” she murmurs in the girl’s ear, just to make her shiver. Parallax isn’t really hugely applicable here.

Petra, though, just looks at her incredulously. “I think I got it?”

(Oh, they’re gonna have fun.)

Happy, test successfully run, catches her attention and gives her a little nod, as Petra returns herself to her task. _Drink must have been clear._

Just then, there’s a metallic tap on her shoulder, then she’s manhandled a few feet away. Petra looks up, but Happy steps into the gap, ready to sort the situation however she needs to.

“I saw what you did,” the interloper hisses. The hydraulics in her metal prosthesis echo the sound. “You don’t get to just spike someone’s drink because you’re famous.”

Tonia calmly double taps her watch and smirks as the Iron Gauntlet forms. “... And _you_ don’t get to put your hands—sorry, _hand —_on me just because you also have a metal toy.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna need you to let go of Ms. Stark now, friend,” Happy informs the woman. That’s how she got her name, ‘Happy’. She’s shot people while still calling them ‘friend’ to their face.

The woman lets go but squares up all the same. Tonia puts her regular fist to the palm of the Iron Gauntlet to steady herself, then cracks her neck in an intimidating fashion.

“Jaime, you’re gonna miss Steph’s… show… What are you _doing_?” Petra asks, suddenly agitated as she clocks the tableau in front of her.

“Rich bitch was gonna roofie you, baby girl,” Jaimie explains, causing Tonia to scoff.

“Like I’d need to,” she can’t help but say. “Also, it was a _test tablet;_  I was looking after her safety and mine.”

Petra looks between them. A spotlight goes up on the small stage.

“Can we _not?_  Let me get my picture,” Petra huffs, turning back around. Tonia watches as she slips the strap of her camera around her neck, freeing up her hands for a moment to subtly push the drink away.

She’s not sure why that disappoints her.

***

Of course, the younger woman comes home with her anyway, so Tonia’s not sure what she’s complaining about. (Maybe the fact that Petra had been careful to tell Michael, the sharp-tongued bartender, and Queenie, the camera bag watcher, exactly where she was headed and with whom?)

It doesn’t seem to dampen the younger woman’s enthusiasm any, though, their little tiff. She seems eager to impress Tonia, to seem interested in her mind. Petra goes straight over to the beautiful, carved desk that Tonia likes this particular hotel for, then hesitates.

“Can I set my bag here?” she asks politely.

“Of course,” Tonia murmurs, letting her clicking heels tumble partially under the bed as she reclines. Normally, she’d mind, but Petra is just about the most guileless creature she’s come across in recent memory. Also, she just really wants to get out of this fucking businesswear.

Petra looks up at the sound the shoes make. “Oh. Wow.”

Tonia does draw the line at that twinkle she already sees in the other woman’s eyes though. “No photos, please.”

Petra shifts, but obediently puts her camera fully away, even closing and zipping the canvas lining closed, like she wants Tonia to trust her. “I wasn’t- I mean, I didn’t expect. You’re… wow. I already said that, but. Wow.”

It’s cute. “Say it backward.”

“Wow,” Petra repeats. Tonia enjoys pulling her string.

“Say it upside down,” she instructs.

Petra bites her lip. “Uh… would that be… Mom?”

“Absolutely, you little prodigy. Mom, it is,” she praises, wondering if Petra will be as receptive as she’d like.

The younger woman takes a step forward, so, maybe so. “Or… would ‘Mommy’ be better?”

(She’s a quick study, this one.)

“Only if you’d like to be well taken care of?” Tonia informs her. It’s technically a question, she supposes, and she’d stop if Petra gave her a signal. But as it is, she thinks the girl could use a little being taken care of.

Petra takes another few steps forward, more bold. Tonia feels a little bad that she’s not meeting her in the middle, but then they’d just end up on the carpet, which… isn’t the _worst_ idea she’s ever had.

“Do you. I mean, I saw earlier, with your hands,” she says quietly. It’s meant to be a question, Tonia’s sure, but like her, Petra seems to be taken in by the tense quiet of the room that really doesn’t belong to either of them; it makes everything neutral. (Genderless.)

“You mean these?” Tonia sits up to say, banging her wrists together twice, bracelet to watch. The gauntlets form readily, nanotech shining like snake scales.

Poor thing, the look on Petra’s face at that—fascinated, mostly—makes it clear her mouth has just gone dry. The Iron Maiden armor has that effect on people, even just pieces-parts of it. “Would you like a drink?”

“You gonna card me?” Petra asks absently, eyes not leaving her hands.

Tonia sits up even straighter at that. “You about to tell me you’re under eighteen, kid?”

“I’m twenty-one.”

“Then, no,” she shrugs, tiring of their little dance. “Come here, sweetness.”

Petra does it, bless her, and Tonia makes sure that when she clambers up the bed, there’s a perfect little triangle of space for her to inhabit, against Tonia’s chest. She makes the effort to not catch on Petra’s short hair with the gauntlet as she draws her in for a kiss.

It’s long moments of warmth, not too chaste and not too filthy either, before Tonia really starts licking into the other woman’s mouth. Petra seems to like a lot of little kisses in between longer ones, and it reminds Tonia of how she talks.

And what a conversation it is, that they have, without words. Tonia rolls with it, not wanting to frighten her little doe, and endures the almost childish pecks that, if spoken, would be Petra’s stutter-started sentences and broken off, anxious thoughts.

She only has so much patience, though.

If she lets Petra test it a bit, who has to know? But, finally, she does insinuate herself forward, pressing Petra down on the coverlet. She pulls back to say, “Dear, you still have your shoes on.”

Then, because she can and it feels good, she adds, “Do you need help with that?”

Petra does the most amazing thing, though, and blows a raspberry in her face. (What the fuck.)

“Watch this,” she says and slips away to untie her exceedingly worn purple, high-top sneakers. Then she strips quicker than Tonia’s ever seen, almost too fast. She’s left in a daring red bra that Tonia’s certain was bought with an ill-chosen but well-intentioned gift card to Victoria’s Secret, and a truly tiny set of navy boyshorts.

Nothing about them matches each other, or any other part of the discarded outfit.

“I dig it,” Tonia says. “Also, why try to play physicist and photographer, when you clearly came to get fucked, wearing that scandalous lingerie, Parker?”

“It’s the only thing that was clean; we don’t all have maids or personal dry cleaners,” Petra informs her, covering her top self-consciously.

That won’t do. Tonia kind of fucked that one up. “Listen, you’re gorgeous and all, but if you don’t take those hands down, Mommy’s gonna blast those panties off of you.”

“First you dose my drink, now you’re threatening me. Maybe I need to take the posters in my bedroom down.”

Tonia considers that. Most fans aren’t so forthcoming about being fans. This one is _nice_ ; she’s gonna get a cavity. “Would it help if I undressed?”

“Uhm, _duh,_ ” Petra backtalks. It’s like she _wants_ to be punished.

Tonia smiles, taking back the upper hand in the conversation. “Would it help _more_ if I let you do it for me?” she inquires, reclining back again, faux-vulnerable.

Petra doesn’t even dignify that one with an answer, just comes back to her. It’s flattering, so Tonia gives her a treat; for every place Petra’s quick hands uncover on her, Tonia sweeps rapidly-warming nanotech over the mirror location on Petra’s body.

It makes it a little too easy to compare the relative smoothness and tightness of their skin, but what does it matter? She’s got a few tricks up her sleeve, even if she no longer has the sleeve. A thumb-to-ring finger motion makes the gauntlets vibrate, so she presses them to the younger woman’s shoulder blades.

“Oh,” Petra breathes, before she returns to her favorite word, “... wow.”

Petra enjoys the sensation, lets it leech tension out of her if the way she wilts, just a little, is anything to go by. But when Tonia lets up again and Petra returns to her task, she treats Tonia’s clothes like she knows what they cost, which gives the lie to the mismatched fashion plate her floor was treated to earlier. She files that information away; Petra Parker is aspirational, enough to know what she’s touching, but not enough to try and fake it for herself.

Once they’re both down to skivvies, Tonia slips a neat finger underneath Petra’s fancy bra strap. “You don’t need this, and I don’t have one. I don’t like to be underdressed,” she says, snapping the material.

Petra reaches back, rolling her eyes ( _brat_ ), but Tonia shows off a little, willing the nanobots to coalesce around the clasp, unlocking it with her mind and its little soldiers.

Her prey takes a quick breath in—shocked?—and not just from the air hitting those perfect nipples. “How did you- Telepathic link?”

Tonia’s never favored the Socratic method, but she flips her hair anyway, letting her short-cropped, angled bob and its long bangs fall away from the side of her face.

She sees the moment Petra’s eyes alight on the earring, and its wire and lead. “What’s this for?” she asks, reaching out with her hand curving warm against Tonia’s face, just barely touching the tech with her fingertips. She looks like she knows its worth more than her life.

“If I show you, you can’t have it. If you guess…?”

Petra nods, dazed, already scrambling for an answer. It’s possible Tonia didn’t think this through; pretending at physics knowledge is one thing. Connecting the dots between her most… personal… invention and her party trick with the bra clasp is another.

Not wanting the girl to be too embarrassed if she can’t come up with anything, Tonia gets to work maneuvering Petra over top of her. She even stretches her hand wide to take most of those pretty breasts in one iron grip, creating cleavage where before there was very little, but Petra is still in a trance, tracing her thumb over Tonia’s jaw as she stares at the glinting technology at her fingertips. It’s not _insulting_ , per se, but it’s _confirming._

Definitely an Iron Groupie. But, she’s neither the first nor the last, Tonia suspects, so she doesn’t let it stop her from playing with a nice, juicy clit when it’s right in front of her.

That gets a reaction, Petra’s attention snapping to her face before she looks down at the hand snuck into those maddening panties. “You’re not attached to these, right? They were already soaked, so…” Tonia trails off.

“Uhm, sorry-”

“Don’t apologize, baby,” Tonia says, pinching her a little just to see if she likes it. Petra makes a tiny, almost inaudible squeal. “And don’t raise your squeak at me.”

“I didn’t realize you’d be so… authoritative,” Petra breathes, though her flush gives her away. It’s not a complaint.

Tonia quirks an eyebrow at the panties again, so Petra gives in and nods. They’re shredded by the Iron Gauntlet as Tonia pulls Petra forward by them for a half-second. “What is it about genius, billionaire, playgirl, philanthropist that you don’t get?” Tonia asks as she slips careful fingers through Petra’s folds.

The younger woman lets her eyes flutter shut as Tonia starts touching her in earnest. It takes her a few moments to gather the train of her previous thought like a too-long dress. “I guess, I mean, I always thought you seemed a little sad,” she informs Tonia softly.

They stop talking after that.


End file.
